Hints
by Sakrea
Summary: Jazz's med bay visit after the battle with Devastator and Menasor turns interesting... Jazz/Ratchet, IDW comic verse. Warnings: Mech kissing. This is the sequel to my story "Hope." Not necessary to read, but recommended.


This is the sequel to my story "Hope."

Probably not necessary to read it, but it may help.

Note: This is set after a battle in the ongoing Transformers IDW comic series, but this did not actually happen to Jazz.

Since the writers put him as a background character, I took the liberty of making this particular part up.

I do not own Transformers in any way shape or form.

* * *

"Ow ow ow ow ow!"

"Shut up and hold still! You're acting like a sparkling!"

"You're pulling a large piece of Devastator out of me, how am I acting like a sparkling?"

Ratchet smacked him across the helm with a wrench. "Hold still! This thing's already too close to your spark to be safe!" he shouted. "Primus, you're gonna kill yourself!"

Jazz shot a weak glare at the medic, but decided that gripping the sides of the berth and holding on for dear life was probably the better choice.

Ratchet shot him a brief, skeptical look before he resumed his work. "One way to do this…" he grunted.

Before Jazz could ask what exactly that meant, the medic grabbed the long piece of metal with his bare hands and ripped it out of his chest. His reaction was, understandably, a howl of pain coupled with the slamming of his helm into the berth.

By the time his optics stopped flaring warnings at him and he pulled his head off of the berth, Ratchet was setting the offending chunk of Decepticon on a nearby table. The green armor was nearly as long as he was and about 3 feet wide, though it was fairly thin. The hole in his chest made by the armor was only about 6 inches off of his spark chamber. He'd been very lucky.

"All in all, you walked away in decent shape." The medic noted.

"Oh really?"

"You got stepped on by a combiner." Ratchet replied flatly.

Jazz chose not to mention that he had not "walked away" since one of his legs had been compacted and bent in several different directions. Said leg was currently making an odd hissing noise and sparking at various intervals.

"All in all, you seem to be taking my condition rather well." Jazz countered after a moment.

"Oh really?"

"I've only been wrenched once."

Ratchet's reaction was to bean him in the head with another wrench.

Jazz let out a stream of Cybertronian and English curses and rubbed the newly dented spot. He heard the medic chuckle good naturedly beside him.

When Ratchet returned to work on his chest, there was an unusual looking smile stretching across his face plates, but Jazz chose not to question it. Despite the medic's oddly pleasant mood, he decided that it might be wise to remain silent for a while.

For Jazz, this was a familiar scene. The first time he'd ever had a chance to really talk to Ratchet had been when he'd been forced into his medical care nearly a millennia ago. Back then, Ratchet had been like he was now. He'd still been his grumpy, wrench wielding self, but he'd still had some of that pre-war mindset. It made him wonder what was bringing that back now.

For about a cycle, Ratchet worked on Jazz in silence. The only sounds were an occasional sound of pain from Jazz and the sound of a welder.

"The critical lines and armor are all pieced back together now, but I wouldn't suggest moving at all for another solar cycle."

Ratchet seemed pleased, but Jazz wasn't sure it was because his critical work was done on his chest.

"What's got your in such a chipper mood, Ratch?" Jazz asked when the medic bent back over his chest to perform the more cosmetic repairs.

"Remember how I told you about that mech?" The medic asked.

"Of course. You still havent' told me who he is."

Ratchet shot a grin at him. "Not going to." He said briefly before he turned his optics back on his work.

"Uh huh. Well what about him?" Jazz pressed.

"Got to see him back in his prime again. Though the fragger made a few stupid moves."

Jazz smirked, tapping a finger briefly on the metal berth. "That's not a real hint, Ratch. Most mechs out there made a few stupid moves."

"Wasn't supposed to be a hint."

"Well give me one."

"He got injured too."

"Still not much of a hint." Jazz huffed, peering at the medic from behind his visor.

Ratchet straightened up and stared down at him in a critical, yet clearly amused manner. "It's still a hint."

Jazz took the chance to sit up on the berth. "I think I figured it out anyway." He noted, grinning at the medic.

Something like surprise flashed through Ratchet's optics, but he covered it up by pulling the most neutral look he could across his face. "Do tell."

Jazz flashed him a brief, mischievous grin before his hand shot out to grab onto Ratchet's chest plating. Before the medic could so much as let out a grunt of surprise, he had their lips pressing firmly together.

"Took you fragging long enough." Ratchet grouched against his mouth, though he was clearly amused.

"Your hints are too subtle." Jazz muttered in protest, pulling the medic down again when he tried to straighten up.

"Some Special Ops agent you are!"


End file.
